Quote

She came into a room she stood, as he had often seen her, in a doorway with lots of people round her. But it was Clarissa one remembered. Not that she was striking not beautiful at all there was nothing picturesque about her she never said anything specially clever there she was however there she was.

Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf
Age: 59 †
Born: 1882
Born: January 25
Died: 1941
Died: March 28
Author
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Feminist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Publisher
Short Story Writer
Writer
London
England
Virxhinia Ulf
Virginia yo juanito Adeline Woolf
Virg̔inyah Vold
Virdžiniâ Vulf
Virdzhiniia Vulf
Virzhinia Ulf
Virginia Stephen
Virzhin︠iia Ulf
Adeline Virginia Stephen
Virginyah Volf
Adeline Virginia Woolf
Virginia Adeline Woolf
Adeline Virginia Stephen Woolf
Birtzinia Gulph
Virginia Stephen Woolf
Woolf
Virginia
1882-1941
Never
Room
Striking
People
Rooms
Stood
Seen
Round
Came
Rounds
Clarissa
Often
Clever
Specially
Beautiful
Remembered
Picturesque
Anything
Lots
Doorway
Nothing
However
Doorways

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I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?
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Let us not take for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.
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Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.
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One has to secrete a jelly in which to slip quotations down people's throats - and one always secretes too much jelly.
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You cannot find peace by avoiding life.
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I was so pleased and excited by your letter that I trotted about all day like a puppy with a bone.
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The sigh of all the seas breaking in measure round the isles soothed them the night wrapped them nothing broke their sleep, until, the birds beginning and the dawn weaving their thin voices in to its whiteness
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To make ideas effective, we must be able to fire them off. We must put them into action.
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Never did anybody look so sad. Bitter and black, halfway down, in the darkness, in the shaft which ran from the sunlight to the depths, perhaps a tear formed a tear fell the waves swayed this way and that, received it, and were at rest. Never did anybody look so sad.
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The eyes of others our prisons their thoughts our cages.
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For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
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For nothing was simply one thing.
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I don't believe that you can possibly separate expression from thought in an imaginative work. The better a thing is expressed, the more completely it is thought.
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Almost any biographer, if he respects facts, can give us much more than another fact to add to our collection. He can give us the creative fact the fertile fact the fact that suggests and engenders.
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Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.
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Publicity in women is detestable. Anonymity runs in their blood. The desire to be veiled still possesses them. They are not even now as concerned about the health of their fame as men are, and, speaking generally, will pass a tombstone or a signpost without feeling an irresistible desire to cut their names on it.
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Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.
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Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.
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It is as if Emily Brontë could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognizable transparencies with such a gust of life that they transcend reality.
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There'll be oceans of talk and emotions without end.
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